Business Before Pleasure
by JediShampoo
Summary: An 18-year-old Obi-Wan gets into a spot of trouble.


#### Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. They belong to George Lucas. I'm only borrowing them. I make no money here.

#### Business Before Pleasure by Shampoo30 (JediShampoo@aol.com)

"No, we don't require food, thank you. No, nor drink either. Good evening."

Hardly breaking his long-legged stride, Qui-Gon Jinn pulled his arm politely but firmly from the peddler's grasp and continued down the riverwalk. The Tarellian, a seasoned salesman who would normally have pressed further, took a good look at the powerfully-built Jedi and wisely refrained. The crowd would provide other, more easily-enticed customers.

Qui-Gon was followed at a short distance by his apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi. The two Jedi had just left the Primani Overlord's residence on a cross-city return walk to their lodgings near the Republic Embassy. They had spent the last four hours with the Overlord, discussing strategies for peace talks tomorrow between Tarellia Prime and its erstwhile protectorate, Tarellia Minor. Qui-Gon had found the talks unsatisfying. The Overlord was determined to retain his power, and would not let the mere threat of all-out war stand in his way.

As he moved through the crowd, other street vendors clamored for his attention, and Qui-Gon had to work to keep his annoyance in check. Primani City, Tarellia's capital, was even more raucous than he'd expected.

Perhaps he should not have refused the Overlord's offer of private transportation. His aim in walking had been to exercise his mastery of the living Force, to get a sense of the city's wartime mood, the people's emotions. Ideally, it should have also provided an opportunity for his apprentice to practice doing the same.

But Obi-Wan was too diverted by the activity around him. Through the Force, Qui-Gon could sense the young man lagging behind, losing his focus. 

Distractedly, 18-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi followed his master through the crowd. Tall, modern, transparisteel buildings surrounded them, providing a sharp contrast to the festival-like atmosphere which prevailed at street level. Trying to keep from goggling like a tourist, he marveled at the changes a few hours had wrought in the city. 

The daytime walk over from their ship earlier had been uneventful, the streets quiet and deserted as a ghost city. But with the lengthening of shadows that heralded the coming of night, the city had come alive with a vengeance. To keep up any pretense of following his master, Obi-Wan had to walk swiftly, dodging swarms of street-hawkers and already-drunk revelers on their way to an evening's entertainment.

But the young Jedi didn't mind the crowds, or the walk. Until a few hours ago, he'd been cooped up in small quarters on a Republic ship, studying and preparing for their mission under the watchful eye of his master.

However, even the sobering effects of a week of shipbound study and sedate meditation, followed by an interminable interview with the Overlord, weren't enough to dispel his sense of excitement at being in such a city.

The sights and sounds around him bombarded his senses, invigorating him. The air was redolent with the scent of flowers, food, and the odor of spices and drugs outlawed on a hundred worlds. The cool, early-evening air and the fine mist rising from the river brushed refreshingly against his face. Obi-Wan could hear laughter and bits of conversations in several different languages, some of which he did not know but which sounded exciting. And the white-tented stalls and shops lining the sidewalks on either side of the narrow river were strung with gaily-colored lanterns, illuminating the myriad alien and human faces of the beings he passed.

It reminded him somewhat of Coruscant, only with more street vendors.

And prostitutes. Primani City seemed to be swarming with incredibly beautiful females, both human and otherwise. Trying in vain to keep his eyes forward as he hurried to follow Qui-Gon, he stole quick, sideways glances at the scores of dark-skinned, native Tarellian women strolling on the riverwalk. 

As a Jedi Padawan, Obi-Wan knew of the serious commitment he owed the Force. He knew he should keep his mind focused on the mission, on the peace talks tomorrow. But his thorough research had also revealed that Tarellian women were famous for their beauty. From what he'd seen so far, he had to agree. He may be a Jedi-in-training, but he wasn't dead, after all.

He also knew he wasn't invisible. Two handsome, human Jedi, strolling confidently down a busy street in any city, are bound to attract notice. He could already see several fetching young women openly eyeing them appreciatively. Obi-Wan had to remind himself that Jedi do not seek attention. He reined in his libido and tried valiantly to review the talks from earlier today in his mind, before he got a lecture from his master. Business…business…What was that the Overlord had said about the planet's disputed farming operations? Obi-Wan couldn't remember for the life of him.

Ahead of him, Qui-Gon unexpectedly turned left past a liquor stand, brushing off the stall's owner with a swift hand gesture that signified a universal "No." The merchant's eyes flickered briefly, hopefully towards Obi-Wan, but the younger Jedi looked downwards at his booted feet and practically jogged past the man, instantly more focused on following his master. 

Rounding the corner, the two Jedi found themselves in a dark and narrow alleyway which was still full of people, but less crowded than the main riverwalk had been. Slowing his stride, Qui-Gon turned his head. With an amused expression on his face, he watched Obi-Wan play catch-up. 

"A bit easier to walk here, I think," Qui-Gon told his apprentice with a chuckle. "And a bit easier to hold on to our money. Unless you were bullied into a impulsive purchase when I wasn't looking?"

"No, of course not," Obi-Wan grinned as he came alongside his master. "I barely had time to look. I had to run just to keep up with you."

"Strange. I hadn't thought you were all that worried about me. Your mind appeared to be wandering elsewhere." Qui-Gon's smile remained, softening his words.

"Sorry, Master." Obi-Wan turned his head as they walked, eyes drinking in the life around him. "This is an…exciting place. And surprising. These people certainly don't behave as if they may soon be at war."

Qui-Gon turned abruptly sober. "Emotions run highest in times of war, my young Padawan," he said, looking around at the alley's other inhabitants. Brightly-lit signs offset by darkened doorways lined the steel and stone walls to either side of them. Steady streams of beings ducked in and out, some carrying packages, others carrying drinks. "All that pent-up fear and desperation need an outlet. Not that the Tarellians need an excuse for debauchery." He cocked an eyebrow at Obi-Wan before turning his gaze ahead of them once again. "If you'd done your reading, you would know Tarellia Prime has a reputation for decadence."

Obi-Wan was immediately defensive. "But I did the reading, Master," he replied, hurt. "I am prepared. I was just a bit surprised at their…abandonment in the midst of such a serious situation." 

"Never be surprised by the ability of living beings to ignore business in favor of pleasure." Qui-Gon turned once again to look at Obi-Wan, a solemn expression on his face. The look he always wore when he was about to correct his apprentice on some weighty matter or another. "As, I suspect, you yourself were doing."

"I'm sorry, Master," Obi-Wan replied, outwardly contrite. Inwardly, however, he was frustrated. He wasn't fourteen anymore, after all, and he somewhat resented being treated like a wayward boy. But out of respect for his master, he kept his insubordinate thoughts to himself. 

Qui-Gon decided to let the matter drop. Obi-Wan was a young man, restless and too handsome for his own good. Qui-Gon smiled inwardly as he remembered what it had been like to be young himself. Jedi were only seekers, not saints, after all, and he knew how eighteen-year-old bodies could send signals that were pretty damned hard to ignore.

He also knew that Obi-Wan was frustrated by his current lack of real, diplomatic participation on this mission. Obi-Wan's presence here was not necessary, and the young man knew it. No matter how hard Obi-Wan had studied, how much he'd prepared, Qui-Gon would do all the talking at tomorrow's peace meetings. His apprentice was there only to observe silently, and learn.

Despite the challenges of this mission and Obi-Wan's frustration, however, Qui-Gon felt confident everything would turn out well. He was determined to make a fine diplomat out of his headstrong apprentice.

"Right, then. Let's keep moving," he told the somewhat sullen young man in a lighter tone. "Clear your mind, and we'll see how well you memorized the layout of the city. Can you lead us back to the Embassy from here?"

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan replied confidently. He was glad there were to be no further lectures.

Obi-Wan looked inwardly with the Force, at the imprint he'd made in his mind of the Primani City map during the long hyperspace journey. If he was correct, there should be another alley, up ahead on the right, which would eventually lead to the city's other main thoroughfare and directly to their lodgings.

As the Jedi made their way down the connecting alley towards the Republic section of the city, the crowds in the street thinned somewhat. The taverns opening from the dark alley became fewer and fewer. That was why Obi-Wan noticed the woman, who stood about twenty yards ahead of them on their right.

And what a woman! Even with his master's rebuke fresh in his mind, Obi-Wan couldn't help but look at her. She leaned, smoking nonchalantly, against the wall outside a doorway. Above her head, a backlit sign proclaimed the name of the business as the Dark Hutt.

She was tall, at least as tall as Obi-Wan, and perhaps a few years older. She was dressed in Tarellian fashion, sporting a long, body-hugging dress, and she wore elbow-length, fingerless gloves. Obi-Wan noticed her colors were not the bright oranges and yellows of a prostitute. Her sheath was a forest green, and her wrinkled gloves an earthy brown that, Obi-Wan decided, stunningly set off her long, tied-back black hair and dark skin.

Alas for poor Obi-Wan, however, she had eyes only for his Master. As soon as the woman had noticed the two Jedi approaching, her dark eyes had fixed boldly, admiringly, upon the tall, older man. Her gaze had flickered once in Obi-Wan's direction, but had seemed to instantly take in his youth and the long braid he wore, dismissing him as a Padawan and beneath her notice. 

Qui-Gon, for his part, was seemingly oblivious to her interested gaze. He kept walking, eyes forward, never once glancing her way. 

But Obi-Wan's interest had been piqued further by the woman's curt dismissal of him. He watched her, intently, as they came abreast of her position. Without once taking her eyes from Qui-Gon, she opened her lips in a small, lecherous smile, exhaling a breath full of white smoke. She then abruptly turned, and with one last, suggestive leer at Obi-Wan's master, ducked inside the door to the Dark Hutt.

"I trust you're not going to get us lost, young Padawan," Qui-Gon spoke suddenly, a smirk in his voice, startling Obi-Wan. "Your sense of focus is obviously not at its best this evening. I hope it wasn't a mistake to bring you here."

"No, Master," Obi-Wan replied, stung, tearing his eyes away instantly from tavern's door to face Qui-Gon. "That woman was just staring so. I wondered what she wanted. Didn't you notice?" _Are you dead?_ he wondered.

"I noticed your distraction."

"I'm sorry, Master," Obi-Wan sighed, beginning to feel repetitive.

Qui-Gon ended the discussion. "Here is the street we need. Lead the way." 

Without further incident, the two Jedi made their way quickly and silently to their quarters. But try as he might, Obi-Wan couldn't banish the woman from his thoughts.

****

An hour later, each had partaken of a refreshing shower and meal. The two Jedi lounged in the main sitting room of their comfortable apartment and discussed the next day's peace talks.

Well, actually, Qui-Gon questioned Obi-Wan intently, testing him on his knowledge of the situation. The younger Jedi had to think hard and carefully, searching the Force for the right answers. It seemed, tonight, he often gave the wrong ones. He supposed he just wasn't meant to be a diplomat. But he tamped down his frustration and kept trying.

"And when the Overlord mentioned the troops he'd stationed on Tarellia Minor's smaller moon—what do you think he meant to do with them?" Qui-Gon asked the question idly, leaning back on the luxurious purple couch he'd shunned in favor of the floor.

Obi-Wan, as well, was seated on the wooden floor, finishing off the last of his evening meal. He licked his fingers and thought for a moment before answering. "I think he was bluffing. I sensed nervousness when he talked about it." Obi-Wan stared down at the remains of his dinner for another long moment, searching his memory. "And I remember reading that Tarellia Minor retains sole sovereignty over their moons. He couldn't have troops there."

"You're right about his nervousness. I'm pleased that you noticed. It wasn't easy to detect." High praise from one so well-versed in the living Force. Qui-Gon turned his head and stared thoughtfully out into the night, through the tall window near his elbow. Their room was situated high on the Embassy annex, and the view through the sheer, blowing curtains was spectacular. He gazed at nothing in particular for an extended moment before continuing. "But I think you're wrong about a bluff. I think his fear was based on the fact that they do retain that sovereignty." 

"No." Obi-Wan surprised Qui-Gon by disagreeing. "I don't think he has soldiers there. Nothing's been mentioned about a military outpost until today. He was bluffing. And we could expose him. We could find out for sure." 

Qui-Gon seemed to consider Obi-Wan's words for a moment. But he was not to be persuaded from his position. "No. There's no need." He closed his eyes as if weary of the situation, of his apprentice's wrong answers. "He has the troops, and I will need to keep that in mind, tomorrow."

Obi-Wan threw down a napkin he'd been twisting and stood up, frustrated. He wasn't to take part in the peace talks he'd prepared for, and now he felt as if he weren't being taken seriously, either. He was pushed to the point of rudeness. "If you're not going to take my advice, then why ask for it?" He turned around, and as if unsure where to go, threw himself into a wine-colored chair and stared at the wall mutinously. "You obviously don't need me here. I could be doing something, anything, more constructive than this."

Qui-Gon felt his own ire rise at this rudeness from his apprentice. But he kept it close. Two angry heads were worse than one. "This is constructive, and you know it. What you learn here, you will use. Countless times in the future. You will need mediation skills if you are to become a Jedi Knight."

"Well, then, let me use what I know."

"You aren't ready. Millions of lives hang in the balance, and you still have much to learn. That is why you must watch, and be mindful."

Still not looking at Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan sighed. "Yes, Master. I'm sorry." He was tired of the discussion. His anger had dissipated, but his restlessness had not. He wanted to be out of this room, out in the city, doing who knows what. Just out. 

Qui-Gon sensed when Obi-Wan had defeated his flash of anger. He knew the young man's frustration was not directed at him, at least not entirely, anyway. He watched his apprentice for long moment, silently. Then, he appeared to reach a decision.

"Go, then," he told Obi-Wan, resignedly.

Obi-Wan turned to his master, shocked. "What?"

"Go on. As long as you return, here, by the time our transport to the meetings is due to arrive, you may go. Run yourself ragged." He almost laughed at the stunned look upon his apprentice's face. "I'm not angry. Just be back by morning."

Obi-Wan paused for a moment, staring at his master, trying to gauge the truth of his words. As soon as he'd ascertained that Qui-Gon truly wasn't angry, he grinned and jumped up to change his clothes. He didn't need to be told more than twice.

Qui-Gon watched him go, mixed emotions showing on his face. He was getting too old for this.

****

Obi-Wan knew where he was going before his feet hit the street. He'd been thinking about that woman, and almost unconsciously he wandered in the direction of the road he and his master had taken earlier. Mostly, his interest in her was born of curiosity. He wondered why she'd stared so intently at Qui-Gon. Did she know him? The fact that she was gorgeous didn't hurt his interest, either. 

It was a beautiful night for a walk, destination or no. Primani City was sub-tropical, the air balmy. He'd not worn his cloak or Jedi robes—instead, he'd dressed lightly in a tan shirt with an open collar which ruffled in the light breeze. His dark brown pants were tucked into his boots, and his lightsaber dangled from his belt. A Jedi never went out without his weapon, and he felt no need to conceal it. It was well-known around the city that the Jedi were here. 

The walk passed quickly, and soon Obi-Wan found himself standing before the entrance to the Dark Hutt. He glanced up and down the alley, noticing that the crowds even here had grown, the city's denizens lured out by the beautiful night. He ducked in the door.

If it was crowded outside, then the inside was indescribable. The Dark Hutt was bigger than the outside led one to believe, and filled with humans and creatures of all shapes, sizes and colors. A band played in a far corner, but they needn't have bothered. The deafening sounds of laughter and conversation drowned out any attempts at music-making.

Obi-Wan noticed that the long, old-fashioned wooden bar to his left seated five or six Rodians, several Wookiees, numerous humans and several species he couldn't identify. The bar stools were all full. And looking around the floor, Obi-Wan could find no empty tables.

Over in the opposite corner from where the band valiantly played, however, Obi-Wan finally spotted one lone, small table with one chair relatively close by. The round table-top was clear. Obviously, no one wanted to sit alone.

Except for him. He pushed his way through the crowd to this sole, unoccupied seat in the tavern. No one paid any attention to him whatsoever.

Seating himself with his back to the corner, Obi-Wan took a good look around the smoke-filled room. At a table to his right, several humanoid creatures were engaged in a rowdy game of sabacc. They were speaking, or more accurately honking, loudly in a language Obi-Wan didn't recognize. 

Turning his head to the left, he was startled to find the incredible woman he'd seen earlier, standing next to his table, watching him. She smirked at him for a few moments before asking, in a laughing voice, "Are you going to order a drink, little Padawan? Or did you come here to loiter?"

Obi-Wan was stunned by her appearance, because, mind elsewhere, he hadn't sensed her presence. Nonplussed, he blurted out, "Do you work here?"

The beautiful woman rolled her dark eyes. "Of course I work here. If I didn't, no one else would, either, and nothing would get done." At Obi-Wan's questioning look, she continued, smiling enchantingly. "I own the Dark Hutt."

Obi-Wan regained his composure. "If you're the owner, then why are you waiting tables?" He wanted to get her back for that 'little Padawan' comment. "Shouldn't you be managing people, or something?"

Her gaze narrowed at his snide remark. "Are you going to order a drink, or do you have to wait for your Master to arrive?" She glanced down, as if just noticing the lack of other chairs near the table. "Don't tell me he let you out alone?"

Obi-Wan tired of the game. She obviously wasn't interested in him, and it ill-became a Jedi to insult people on a whim. "Yes, I'll order. Just a fruit juice, please. Preferably something non-fermented," he told her politely. Jedi didn't drink alcohol, either, because it tended to dull the senses.

Nodding, she abruptly turned on her heel and flounced off into the crowd. Another girl brought out his drink, and even though she smiled at him flirtatiously as he paid her, Obi-Wan couldn't become interested.

He was beginning to regret his rude behavior, both to his master and to the woman. What was his problem, anyway? He'd been restless, frustrated, for several weeks now. He'd tried meditation, calming exercises, but nothing seemed to help. Much. He briefly wondered, fearfully, if his commitment to the Force was wavering. So many years of training both behind and ahead of him. It took so long to become a Jedi Knight…

No, he told himself harshly. He was committed. But he was eighteen years old, and strong in the Force. He wanted to use that strength. Master Qui-Gon was a great Jedi, and Obi-Wan was prouder than anything to be his apprentice. He also cared for his master deeply.

The problem was that walking constantly in the shadow of such a remarkable man could become wearing. Obi-Wan sometimes felt as if he were making no progress himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tingling in the Force, a warning. He barely had time to identify the source of the trouble, a huge, bald, scarred human brandishing a blaster several tables away, before the burly man fired a shot into the bar's ceiling. Immediately, all conversation and music in the bar ceased.

"Give her to me, or I kill you, stupid one!" The man shouted in heavily-accented Basic. "This last time I tell you!"

Another, smaller, dark-haired human, obviously shaken, stood up across the table from the giant. A petite Tarellian female hung from his arm. The girl appeared utterly disinterested in the threat before them.

The smaller man replied, in a shaking voice, "Please, Grig, be reasonable. I paid for her. I paid for a week. I like her," he finished, whining. The girl languidly raised her hand in front of her face, examining her fingernails as if there were no more pressing business at hand. 

Grig wasn't appeased. "No. I tell you, I need her back. Tomorrow big day. I raise price, you can't pay it." The big man brought his blaster down to bear on the smaller man, cutting off any further reply. "I kill you, ten seconds. One. Two. Three--"

"Hey, you there, enough of that!" The shrill voice seemed to come from nowhere. Obi-Wan turned his head, and was not surprised to see the bar's owner, pushing through the crowd to the scene of the altercation. "Put the blaster down, and get the hell out! I don't feel like cleaning up any dead bodies tonight." She stared down Grig, a determined gleam in her eye. Obi-Wan couldn't help but admire her guts.

Grig wasn't impressed. "You not worry. I clean up all dead bodies tonight. Soon there will be many. Four, Five--"

"Stop. You should do what she says, sir." Enough was enough. Time to put his skills to work, before someone got killed. Standing, Obi-Wan brought the Force to bear on the man's arm, not too hard, just enough to make him lower the blaster. "Why don't we all go outside, and we can discuss this reasonably."

The smaller man turned a shining look upon Obi-Wan, apparently sure that his savior had arrived to rescue him. "A Jedi," he breathed, grinning. "You can settle this for us. Right here. Grig, you'll accept the judgment of a Jedi, won't you?"

Grig, struggling to raise his blaster arm, glared at Obi-Wan. "He no Jedi. He apprentice. Look at him." He turned his gaze upon the bar's owner, seeking her agreement. "Right, Tirrna? You know Jedi. He just a boy. Tell him let me go."

The crowd, including Tirrna, all turned to stare at Obi-Wan. He felt their gazes, and something else, something strange. Their trust. Padawan or not, these people had been raised to trust the judgment of a Jedi. He felt…odd, but not uncomfortable with the situation, sordid and precarious as it may be. Perhaps he could help here, he could make a difference…

Tirrna's piercing gaze seemed to know he was wavering in his decision. She spoke before Obi-Wan had a chance to reply. "No, Grig, he looks old enough." She turned back to Obi-Wan. "You can handle this right here. How nice to have a Jedi present." She looked around the bar, grinning widely, seeking approval.

The crowd voiced its agreement. Grig knew when he was outnumbered. "Very well, Jedi boy. You listen to story. You will know who is right."

Obi-Wan felt a little uneasy that the decision had been taken from his hands, but he was determined to do the best he could with what he had. After all, he'd wanted to help with decisions that would affect millions of people, hadn't he? Surely he could handle one little bar dispute.

Wary but relaxing his hold on Grig's arm, he nodded. A murmur of approval ran through the bar. A space was cleared for him to make his way to the table. He sat down, and watched Grig and the other man do the same. The prostitute sat on the smaller man's lap, staring off into space at nothing in particular. 

"All right. What is the problem?" He raised his hand to quiet Grig and pointed at the dark man with the conveniently-attached female. "You, sir, start from the beginning. I will know if you are lying."

"I rented Missa here, four days ago, from Grig," the man sniveled. "I paid for eight days, a whole week. But Grig told me he was taking her back, and he won't refund all my money." The man turned a fond gaze upon Missa, who now examining her shoes as if she'd never seen anything more interesting in her life. "I like her, a lot, and it would take a lot for me to give her back. So, I think Grig should refund me the whole week's amount if he wants to wrench my beloved away from me."

The classic argument, as Qui-Gon would have remarked. Women and money. How sordid this whole situation was. Prostitution existed nearly everywhere in the galaxy, but to see the whole dirty business up close was distasteful. Buying and selling humans, as if they had no more worth than the clothes these people wore, the food they ate. But, Obi-Wan was in this to the end. He buried his disgust and turned to Grig. "Now your side of the story, if you please."

Grig had kept quiet during the other man's story, but now he was ready to vent. "This my girl. She mine, and I can do with her what I want. And tomorrow, big government day." He turned to the faces gathered around the table, as if seeking assent. "Maybe war. You know. Big day like that, I can make lot of money with her. And he already get week's worth of her. He got bargain. Right, Missa?" Grig turned his eyes on her hopefully. Missa ignored him, scratching inside her left ear with her little finger. 

Obi-Wan thought he was going to throw up. Didn't the girl care about anything? "Well, Missa?" He turned his blue gaze upon the girl, willing her to look at him. He decided she should have a say in what happened to her life, her body. "What do you want to do?"

For the first time, the prostitute looked fully at Obi-Wan. But her eyes were distant, unconcerned. "I really don't care," she replied. "Whatever you decide is fine." She then went back to scratching her ear, staring off into the distance. 

Obi-Wan stretched out with the Force. The girl was telling the truth. She really didn't care. He was amazed. He looked around the tavern, at the hundreds of expectant faces…there was danger here, he could sense it, but everyone was waiting. Waiting to hear what else he had to say...

He made his decision. It sickened him, to have to decide what became of someone else's life. But he told himself the situation would have been much worse without his presence. 

"Sir," he said, looking at the little man, "It seems to me that Grig here will not rest until he has this girl back in his….possession. I suggest you release her to him." He turned to Grig, who was beaming happily. "And you, sir, should refund one-half of this man's money." He forced the disgusting words from his lips. "He paid for a full week with Missa here, and it's only fair that he get his money back for only four days' worth."

There. It was done. It was ugly, but it was done. He could see the myriad faces surrounding him nodding, could hear them murmuring approval of his decision. He waited, looking expectantly at Grig.

Grig looked around for a moment, sensing the crowd's acceptance of the Jedi's decision. Suddenly, he jumped up, angered. "I no have money to refund!" He glared at Obi-Wan's shocked expression. "It not fair! You not even Jedi. I not accept decision." So saying, he pulled his blaster once again and tried to fire at the man across from him—

Obi-Wan reacted instantly, using the Force to sense the giant's sudden movement even before he made it. He stayed Grig's hand, deciding it was time to take this outside before more violence erupted—

Without warning, at the back of the bar, four of the long-forgotten band members brandished weapons and began firing towards the table. Obi-Wan grabbed his lightsaber and ignited the blue blade instantly, desperately, trying to block the blasts, deflect them harmlessly into the ceiling. The crowd around them scrambled to get out of the way, knocking over tables and chairs in their hurry to throw themselves on the floor.

But the shots were coming from the opposite side of Grig, where Obi-Wan couldn't reach because of the panicked bar denizens. He deflected five or six shots skillfully, but it wasn't enough. Grig, brain-fried by a head wound, went down, dying, screaming in pain. 

Sickened, and blocking more incoming blaster shots, Obi-Wan looked down at the little man to see if he and Missa were safe. To his surprise, the man was laughing maniacally. He stood and yelled back to the firing band members, enthusiastically.

"Good shooting, boys! I knew you would protect me and my beloved. You were worth the money." He turned to look at Obi-Wan, giggling hysterically. "And you were free, which makes you an even better bargain. Thank you, sir Jedi. Missa, thank the man—urrrgggkh…"

His eyes widened in surprise as he fell to the table, choking. There was a smoking hole in the front of his throat, where a blaster shot had pierced him from behind. Missa barely flickered an eyelid as she pushed the man off of her and stood up, unconcerned.

Obi-Wan breathed deeply, trying to stay his panic. The whole situation was out of hand. Reaching out with the Force, he wrenched the blasters from the hands of the four madly-firing band members. The floor-bound bar customers saw this. Several dozen people at the back, near the stage, jumped up and roughly grabbed the band, restraining them. 

With the shooting stopped, Obi-Wan took a deep, calming breath. He surveyed the room. Only two dead. Bad, very bad, but it could have been worse. He felt cold, so cold. He turned to look at Tirrna. He knew she'd fired the blast that killed the dark little man.

"Why did you do that?" he asked her, accusingly. "I was trying to minimize casualties--"

"He made me angry. I knew that band was trouble, when they appeared out of nowhere, earlier today." She tossed her smoking blaster behind the bar, where it was caught by one of her waitresses. "But my other band quit yesterday. By the way, good work there, little Jedi. My customers thank you for saving their lives. These two were worthless."

Where she had been mocking and nasty to Obi-Wan before, now she was soft and melting, eyeing him with a seductive grin. "Perhaps I can repay you, somehow? I know you Jedi don't take money. I have…" she paused. "other things to offer." 

Obi-Wan was still shaken. He'd misjudged, he hadn't seen the danger in the back of the bar until it was too late. And now, two men were dead because of it. Of his decision. How had he ever thought he could make decisions affecting an entire world? An entire system? 

The woman was nothing to him. He wanted to get away, to run, sort out his thoughts. He felt cold. 

"No. You can't." He turned an icy blue gaze upon her. "There's nothing you can do for me." 

With that, he turned and pushed through the crowd to the open door. He said, without turning his head, "I'm sorry." Shivering, and without a backwards look, he exited to the chilly night outside.

****

Obi-Wan apprehensively entered the apartment he shared with his master. Qui-Gon would know. He would know that Obi-Wan had messed up. Had gotten into trouble, and it had ended badly. Shivering, he stepped into the darkened sleep-room, seeking only his bed and blissful oblivion.

Qui-Gon knew. He didn't know concrete details, but he could sense Obi-Wan's profound sorrow and agitation. He sighed under the covers disappointedly. Whatever had happened, the young man would have to work it out by himself. Only then, would he learn anything.

Wandering in the dark, Obi-Wan was fairly shaking by now. Why was it so cold? "Master, why is the window still open? It's freezing in here."

A low, sleepy voice emanated from somewhere inside the bundle of blankets on his master's bed. "It's fine. Go to sleep."

"It's cold in here. I feel cold." Still shivering, he climbed onto his own sleep-couch across the room and pulled a blanket over himself. Trying to get warm. Trying to fall asleep. He would need to be awake and alert tomorrow, so he could watch and be mindful. And learn.

THE END.


End file.
